Lost and Found
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: In which some things are Lost, some things are Found, and everything changes... Continuing the River/Jayne saga that started with Hide 'n Seek, and Still Seeking.
1. Prelude: Lazarus

**Prelude**

Lazarus

His security card got him into the hangar. His name badge got him motioned through the next three lines of security. His plans for today were outlined in the log, no one would find anything amiss with his scheduling. He was a scientist, and this was his brain-child. He believed it to be so much better than the tripe that Academy worked so hard for. That load of speculative _go se_ had only gotten them shut down and scattered to the four winds. He was glad he'd gotten out of that program when the getting was easy, and still breathing-friendly.

Yes, as Thomas Macleay set eyes upon his pride and joy, he was quite happy he'd gotten away from ill-fated experiments and into something that would net him some serious coin. Just so long as everything went well. The Patrol Boat looked like nothing special from the outside. Just standard issue through and through. But Macleay knew it's secrets. His secrets. His passcode opened up the airlock without a fuss, and a second application closed and sealed the lock behind him. The big ship was echoing with emptiness. All but the most basic of amenities had been stripped from the interior, to make up for the special wiring and systems needed for the experiment.

It didn't bother Macleay in the least. He ghosted through the narrow corridor into the cockpit, and settled himself down gently into the pilot's chair. All it took was one single touch and the whole system would wake up. Macleay's hands brushed against the yoke, giving it a slight nudge. Deep in the bowels of the ship he heard the axillary power core wake up, sending a sonorous rumble through the deck plates. Across the surface before him, the console began to blink awake. Macleay sat back slightly, and let the system do its start-up routine.

"[Good morning, Thomas,]" the digitized voice actually sounded sleepy, like a man waking up from a long nap. "[Is it time for simulations, already?]"

"Good morning, Lazarus," Macleay gave the console a pat gently, as he rose from the pilot's chair. "Actually, today we have slightly different orders." He paused for a moment while the AI processed that. It's learning algorithm was surpassing anything he'd dreamed imaginable. "Today, we get to take a real flight. We'll be looking to test your stealth capabilities, including launch and evasion techniques. They're really going to act as thought they're trying to get you, so you have to be great, Laz. Absolutely great."

"[Can do, Thomas! Just tell me when to go!]"

Macleay turned from the cockpit to the sound of Lazarus' cheerfully digitized voice. He even had to admit that he'd really outdone himself this time. Basing an AI off of actually living brain function had been a stroke of genius. This prototype was well worth the three years he'd spent coding the basic program, and even worth this past year of his life, where he'd finally gotten his hands on brain matter that would hold up to his high standards. All that stood between him, and selling the ship to the highest bidder on the black market was a platoon and a half of Alliance cruisers.

"I just need to adjust the radius of your EMP flare before we take off, Laz. You might as well warm up your engines and get ready for the leap into the black."

"[Will do! Hey, why aren't there any flight plans logged with the _Yangtzee_?]" Emotion. Concern. Macleay glanced up from his work to look toward the com. He wondered if basing the programming off live brain tissue had been the best idea. How much of the original personality would break through the electronic guidelines. He remained concerned for another few minutes while he ramped up the output of the EMP bomb. It had to be big enough to disable the cruiser for at least an hour, if not longer.

Finally, he felt comfortable answering Laz. "Because. If they knew what we're doing, it wouldn't be much of a test, now would it?"

The ship made a noncommittal sound that vaguely sounded like an agreement. While Macleay refitted the EMP into its housing, he reflected on just how much he knew of the host-brain. Just what did he know of it's propensity for suspicion? Was there history of betrayal that would evoke such a noncommittal response? He had absolutely no idea what was going on inside the electronic pathways that made up his AI. But all in all, it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.

"Alright, Laz. Use my passcodes to get the bay doors open, initiate take-off sequence Delta-Zero-Nine. Once we're clear of the cruiser's hull, drop the EMP payload on a two-minute delay, and get our asses out of range."

"[Aye, sir,]" Lazarus responded dryly. As Macleay settled down into the pilots seat he watched with interest as the read-outs on the console changed and updated. Lazarus was completely capable of flying himself, wholly autonomous. The ultimate plan was to have a whole fleet of these Patrol Boats, hardwired into one central programmed brain-system. One 'man', three hundred ships. It would fit the steadily growing needs of the Alliance without any further taxation on the number of troops.

The hum of the engine deepened as Lazarus lifted his body up off the hanger deck, and edged toward the slowly opening bay doors. Beyond the silver metal of the cruiser, the black waited for them, endlessly shining with hundreds of thousands of stars. Macleay had a moment of doubt as the cockpit cleared the carrier's hull. What if he couldn't find a buyer for the ship? What if he was caught, shot out of the air in his attempt to steal this beautiful thing? He swallowed hard, reminding himself of all the reasons he was doing this, but most of all, he thought of the payday that awaited him at the end of his flight.

"[Payload away.]" Lazarus seemed disinterested in what was happening. The soft clunk of the closing chute rocked Macleay from his thoughts. He looked back at the console, and a single suspicious blinking light.

"What's that?" He inquired. He was a scientist and a soldier, but not a pilot.

"[Oh, that? They're locking on weapons now. We'll be at full burn in three.... two.... ]"

Macleay swallowed and pressed himself back into the pilot's chair. Locking on weapons? He reminded himself that this was how things were supposed to go. Lazarus was supposed to believe that this was an exercise of it's capabilities. So why did his mouth do dry, and his palms go sweaty the minute his plans all came to fruition.

The whine of the engine almost got unbearable as Lazarus' countdown reached the end. In moments, the Patrol Boat when from creeping away to sprinting, leaving the cruiser, and all it's compatriots behind. Macleay let out the breath he'd been holding, and felt his white-knuckled grip of the seat loosen.

"Nicely done, Laz..." He murmured.

"[I am a leaf on the wind...]"


	2. Chapter 1: Paquin

**Chapter 1**

**Paquin**

Paquin was like a bright garish display of color. The whole planet was swathed in it, from the color of the skies at sunrise and sunset, to the people who inhabited the entire place. The city of Anna Dominica was no different. It was home to no less than one circus, two carnivals, six theatres, four cineplexes and countless shopping bazaars.

It was impossible for Mal to say no to the imploring eyes of his engineer. Inara had business, and the place seemed harmless enough to him. The whole crew was allowed a temporary shore leave, except for he and Zoe. They had business to attend, just like the Companion, although of an entirely different ilk. Mal almost felt a pang of jealousy as he watched his little albatross scamper off gleefully with her brother, and Kaylee. When Jayne stomped down the ramp, though, Mal barely cast him half a glance. He didn't rightly care where the merc went on his shore time, or what he did, only that he came back less snappy, less sullen, and more focused.

The last few months in the black had nearly been intolerable for them all.

In moments, he became aware of Zoe's quiet presence beside him. They didn't need to share words as they shared a glance. Once their boots touched solid ground, Mal felt uneasy. He always did planetside. He took a glance back at Serenity as the cargo bay door rose up and locked securely. Zoe pocketed the remote. They were docked legitimately for once, in an actual shipyard that had surveillance and guards. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Zoe, and they struck out towards the bar that would hold their contact for the evening.

His name was Ronald Craig. He was a third party contractor for a Core-world sissy who wouldn't come out to the Border for business. Zoe had run the man's credentials, and those of his employer as well. Craig had come back on the up, with solid word from a few of their newer contacts that he was a man who could be trusted. His employer, one Daniel Alderay PhD, came up roses, except for one little detail. He worked for Blue Sun Research and Development Department.

From Mal's initial 'wave contact, it seemed something had been stolen from Craig's employer, that he wished to have recovered. But until he could find the Third Circle Bar he wouldn't have many more of those details. He hugged his coat around him a little tighter, happy for once that they didn't attract any passing stares. It seemed that unusual was the normal out here, for once he was grateful of that. Third Circle ended up being a little hole in the wall, the entry door ringed by a holographic flame. Mal paused before entering, and wondered just why he could hear Shepherd Book sighing softly behind him.

He shook off the ghostly feeling of being watched, and squared his shoulders. Zoe nodded when he glanced at her, indicating that she was ready and prepared for just about anything. She descended the stairs through the fiery circle just behind him, feeling naked and on edge without her weapon strapped to her. The inside of the bar was dingy and dusty, filled with blue smoke that wreathed their heads, and stung their eyes. Mal hesitated long enough for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, before moving toward one of the back corners of the little dirty bar. Waiting for them in that back corner was Ronnie Craig.

He looked like a cross between a mountain-man and a carny-worker. His face was grizzled and hard, bearing a few pock scars and signs of a hard life. His clothes were bright, and garish though, loud stripes of lime green and cranberry with gold trim. Mal's eyes hurt just looking at him. He heard Zoe stifle a snort, which at least showed that she found him greatly amusing. Craig motioned them to sit, and then waved over a barmaid in a revealing devil costume. He ordered them both some good grog, while they settled down across from him.

Mal formally introduced both himself and Zoe, and then settled in to get down to business. "So, just what, exact like, are you lookin' for us to get back?"

* * *

Jayne figured that trim would solve everything. It always did, didn't it? Nothing like the comfort of a warm woman, and some alcohol to take the edge off of life. So why was he standing in the window, staring out at the city when he could be cavorting under the covers with the pretty lady that had come up with him? Because he was still tense, still thinking. This thinking was going to kill him.

There was an untouched pitcher of beer on the end table, and a willing woman waiting for him in the bed. But Jayne couldn't get his head on straight. Every time he thought of slinking into the bed, he pictured a lithe dark-haired girl, with moony-eyes. He heard the creak of the bed, and knew that his buxom, curvaceous whore was coming toward him. He caught her reflection in the window, all sunshine and sweetness. She trailed her hand down his arm, tracing the curve of his bicep.

"What's wrong, sugar? Ye should loosen up."

He couldn't remember her name; she'd told him, and he'd promptly forgotten. Her exploring fingers moved across his back, finding a knot and kneading at the muscle gently. Jayne squeezed his eyes shut tight. Even off the ship, he couldn't let his guard down. One misspeak, one misstep, and he'd be spaced as sure as the sun'd come up. And to make matters worse, he hadn't gotten one moment alone with the pixie-girl in almost two months. She hadn't touched him since she held his hand to her face. Sometimes, he could still feel the ghost of her lips against his skin.

Thinking about it only made his life worse.

Jayne groaned, but allowed himself to be led back toward the bed. Sasha (that was her name!) pushed him down on his belly, and settled down beside him, continuing to find those knots with her fingers. She was silent for a long time, working at his ailing muscles. Jayne tried to keep the images of River out of his head. It never worked for long.

"Y'know," Sasha began softly. The Paquin lilt to her voice gave her a mysterious quality that Jayne had liked automatically. "Y'can talk t'me. There's more t'what I do than jus' layin' round in bed."

Jayne pondered this for a while, letting Sasha's fingers work along his spine. Finally, when he figured she wasn't meaning anything more than she was saying, he grunted softly. Her hands hesitated, worried for a moment that she'd hurt him somehow, but when Jayne sighed, she resumed.

"If you were t'tell a man, that things needed t'be kept secret, but then, you didn't talk toward him, didn't even bother lookin' at him... what would you mean by that?"

He didn't need to see her face to know she looked surprised. Instead, her fingers started working in a circle around his shoulder blade.

"I would say she's doin' a sight better job o'keepin' a secret than ye are." Her humor was levied with a sympathetic tone though, one that caused Jayne to roll onto his side, disrupting her massage work. He eyed her suspiciously, eyes narrowed. "Now, don' be givin' me that look!"

"I do fine keepin' secrets!" Jayne harrumphed, flopping back down on his stomach. He crossed his arms under his chin, and stared at the pitcher of beer. "I just wish I knew what was goin' on inside that brain o' hers."

Sasha tsked softly. "Ye don' understand women, ye simply accept them... s'all we ever want." She smoothed her palm down the length of his spine, and gave his backside a healthy swat. "Yuir in the wrong place, though, if ye wantin' t'be accepted back."

Sasha rose smoothly, and wandered over to the window where Jayne had been standing. He pushed himself up, and sat at the edge of the bed, their roles reversed. He knew she had a point. And he knew that he felt a mite better with all those knots worked out of his shoulders. She were right, though. He'd missed a perfect opportunity to spend some time with River. She could have easily ditched her pasty-faced brother, and li'l Kaylee, and come to spend time walking the bazaars and carnivals with him.

Grabbing his boots, he shoved his feet back into them. "Thank you!" he sounded more cheerful than he felt, as he kissed Sasha's hair and cheek. Waving the tips of his fingers at her, he threw open the door and clattered down the stairs. Sasha shook her head slightly in his wake. That was the easiest money she'd ever made.

* * *

River drifted like a piece of wood on the ocean. So many minds and thoughts skimmed across hers as she followed in Kaylee and Simon's wake through the narrow streets, that she was unsure of what she was actually hearing, and what she was Reading. Kaylee would bubble over something in a stall, and Simon would laugh. Their happiness was like a beam of sunlight, glittering over the two of them. River felt like she was intruding; her mere ghost-like presence would put a pall on Simon occasionally when he would check for her, the worry eclipsing his good time.

River waggled her fingertips at him, and then slipped down the bazaar further. She made sure to stay in sight, wary of the press of humanity around her. But music always drew her in, like a moth to flame. She easily slipped between people, edging closer and closer to the source of the sounds. A blast of heat and a wave of wonderment brought her gaze upward. She had found a stage.

A mechanical calliope jangled merrily at the edge, guilt in gold and ivory. The man turning the hand-crank was dressed as a clown, his face painted with a garishly bright smile, and his eyes dancing in time with the music. Taking up the center of the stage were three people; River knew them instantly as a family... a husband, wife, and son. They juggled sticks that were lit aflame at one end, in an impossibly intricate pattern. River stared, her eyes trying to follow a single torch as it danced and flickered between the three jugglers, but as soon as she thought she had the pattern, they changed it.

The son, perhaps only a few years her senior, twisted one torch around and stuck the brilliantly flaming end into his mouth! Popping the dangerous object out, he exhaled a great gout of flame, toward the audience, gaining a new wave of awe that threatened to sweep River along with it. Even as she stared in mute amazement, she became aware of Simon and Kaylee joining her, coming up behind to flank her. Kaylee _ooh_ed and _aah_ed right in time with the rest of the crowd. The show came to a spectacular end, with a work of acrobatics as well as flame-eating. River applauded with the rest, but her eyes were already wandering, looking for the next thing to focus upon.

Her eyes moved through the crowd briefly, and for a second, River hesitated. Did she really just see... no, it couldn't be. Shaking her head free of paranoia, she forced herself to smile at one of Kaylee's observations. Something about the fire-eaters being _hot_, or something. River kept glancing behind them, toward the edge of the crowd. As it began to disperse, the caught sight of it again: a black suit jacket, being tugged by a hand wrapped in blue...


End file.
